by R.A. Graves
Michael stood on the balcony as the boat rose methodically up and down on the swells of the Great River. It was midday and he could feel the heat of the high sun touching his shoulders through his shirt. He took deep and deliberate breaths and wondered if it was the heat or the sway of the boat that made him feel so woozy. A quiet shuffle on the deck behind him made him turn.
It was Debora, her office shoes scuffing on the wood planks. She held the stem of a wine glass between her finger tips and swirled it back and forth.
“It doesn’t look like you're having much fun,” she said. Michael smiled at her.
“Actually, I feel a little sick.” He put a hand over his stomach. “I don’t do well on the water. Besides, I find it funny that you would be scolding me about not having enough fun.”
Debora laughed unexpectedly. “I have fun.” she said. “Wine is fun.” She held her glass up a little higher.
“I had no idea that you liked wine.” Michael turned back to the rail and leaned trustingly against it. Debora leaned next to him holding her glass out over the water.
“I do, but I shouldn’t. It makes me blotchy.” She touched her face. “You don't want to have any?”
“No thanks. We are here for work, not for pleasure.”
Debora's eyes grew wide. “Oh, should I get rid of this?”
Michael waved his hand at her. “No, go ahead, have fun. How many times will you be on a paddle wheel boat in the middle of the Great River?”
She nodded. “It is sort of romantic.” Michael looked at her skeptically.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.” She moved away from him on the rail. “This isn’t my first glass,” she explained.
“What do you think we're going to find down there?” Michael asked, changing the subject. Debora shrugged. He turned around, leaned against the rail and looked in the windows of the boat. He saw the cool look of granite and hardwoods beneath the ceiling fans, the swirl of people and their wine. “It does look relaxing,” he said.
“It's burning hot out here,” Debora said. “Why don't you come in, take your mind off the watch for a few minutes? Have a drink. You wouldn't want the river spirits to get you.”
Michael rolled his eyes. She was joking of course, but he knew of the ancient myth. The Great River was not always running its current path. It was dug out by workers with one mission: to supply water and a source of energy for the Great City.
Many of those workers gave their lives and died on the spot. Some more devout workers even offered themselves up freely as a sacrifice, believing they were fulfilling a great commission. Now, mythology and religion say those spirits were pinned beneath the waters, sealed in. Some people warn that even the paddle wheels of large ships could stir them up. Others foretell of a day when the river will run dry - the muddy water will slip away like a vanishing line, and the spirits will be released. Nobody in Wind Quarry will eat the fish from the Great River, whether they believe the legend or not. Over time, it had become a cultural thing.
Michael pushed away from the rail and followed Debora inside. He was never a wine person. He wasn't much for alcohol at all actually, but he wanted to get his mind off the watch. It did the trick: he drank two glasses of white wine rather quickly, more quickly than he should have. Debora had another glass of red wine, then turned in for the night, leaving it half full on the bar.
Void of company, Michael grabbed a newspaper and found a corner chair to sit in. He stared at the text without reading, flipped through a few pages, looked at the pictures and almost drifted off to sleep, when a sound caught his attention.
A man sat next to him. He was a heavy man who leaned back in his seat out of necessity, making room for his belly. His skin was the color of a peach.
“Is everything alright?” Michael asked politely.
“Oh yes, everything is OK,” the man said. “Pardon me if I startled you.” He waited only a few seconds, then said, “Where are you headed?”
Michael was hesitant, but blamed it on the wine. There was no harm in small talk.
“Going to the Great City,” he said.
“Are you and your wife on vacation?”
“No,” Michael answered, somewhat uneasy over the question. “It's for work. Debora is my secretary.”
The man chuckled and after a moment, so did Michael.
“That's what they call it now?” the man asked jokingly.
“No, seriously,” Michael said. “She is really my secretary. We are going to the Great City on business.”
“So what line of work are you in?”
“Bookbinding. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name.” Michael offered his hand. The man shook it.
“Glen Clouth.”
“Nice to meet you, Glen. And where are you headed?”
“To the Great City, of course.” He flashed a toothy grin. “We all eventually end up in the Great City sooner or later, don’t we?”
Michael shrugged.
“Anyway, I overheard you and your female travel companion talking about a most interesting sounding watch.”
Michael searched his memory. “I don’t think there was any mention…” He stopped and wondered if the wine was having any effect on his recollection, or if the man was trying to pull something.
“Isn’t there a watch?”
“What is your interest?” Michael said.
“Oh, not too much,” Glen said. “I suppose I'm just an admirer of finer things - watches, trains, tea cups, that sort of thing. Actually,” he said, pulling a business card from his breast pocket, “I’m more than an admirer. I’m a professional.” The card labeled Glen Clouth as The Keeper of Ancient Artifacts for the Great City. “I’m also just a collector myself.” Michael handed the card back and the man waved it off. “Keep it. I have a million of those things.”
“Well, it's not much of anything,” Michael said, deciding to play it safe and keep his true mission a secret. “It’s just an old watch that belonged to my grandmother,” he said. “I'm getting it in the will. Now if you would excuse me, I really should get some rest before we reach the city. I have a lot of work to get started on in the morning, and I’m really not feeling all that well.”
Glen called out as Michael walked away, “You enjoy the Great City, and be careful.” He leaned back and in a quieter, unheard voice he added, “It can be a dangerous place.”